


The Fluttering of the Wings of a Distant Butterfly

by neoladyapollonia



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoladyapollonia/pseuds/neoladyapollonia
Summary: Wilhelmina Graham has had to fight to get to where she is and she's happy there. Now Jack Crawford wants her back in the saddle and catching killers, uncaring of what it will do to her. And he's brought in a shrink as if she can't do the job he's giving her alone. She's not happy about Dr. Hannibal Lecter. At least, not at first. This might be good for her...





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this actually all happened because I was looking for plus-sized lingerie. The banner on one of the pages had a man's hands either hooking or unhooking the garter straps to the stockings. You could see that he was dressed in a suit from the cuffs of his jacket. And I immediately thought of Hannibal dressing up his date for the opera. And I have a serious thing for gentle dom Hannibal for some reason. Then I started thinking about how Will would be different if he were a woman and this happened. This will mostly follow canon, but because she is not Will, it won't be exactly the same. I do have more written, but I won't be posting it yet until I get further.
> 
> Also, some of how Will practically cowered before Jack really made me angry, so my Wil is a little different.
> 
> The title comes from Chaos Theory, which was Mysenia's idea, for which I will be forever grateful!
> 
> DenaCeleste, Arabwel, Cute as Hale, & Herbeloved82 helped me feel good about what I wrote so it's thanks to them that I'm posting it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet and it all begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DenaCeleste made me a banner! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Hannibal was intrigued the moment he saw her. Wilhelmina Graham, dressed in her jeans and oversized shirts while hiding behind her glasses, did not want to be noticed. Despite this, she must have doggedly pursued this career to even just be a professor at Quantico, not to mention the other qualifications she must surely possess. He had often heard the adage “Those who can’t, teach” and found it to be untrue. The only effective teacher was one who could truly comprehend the material. For a man such as Jack Crawford to forcibly pull this woman from the classroom to the field, she must have been truly incredible. 

He also noticed, that unlike most women he encountered, she didn’t wear any makeup, not even just a thin layer for a “natural” look. Regardless, she was unable to hide her beauty. Her large green eyes framed by her rectangular, dark glasses were particularly striking. Her chocolate brown curls, tucked behind her ears, furthered the air of innocence surrounding her, reminding him of a halo. The sting of her brash words and rough attitude were dispelled by her almost shy behavior as she refused to look him in the eye and hesitated to speak to him at all.

With her palpably desperate need to stay away from the spotlight, he found her brusqueness understandable, if still a bit rude. He was more interested than offended. As soon as he achieved eye contact, he knew the truth; not only did she possess pure empathy, but there was a darkness in her as well, waiting below the surface. Her clothes and lack of make-up were her camouflage. Her glasses were her armor. Her behavior was her shield. Her words were her sword. All designed to work together to keep her safe from the intrusions of others and also to conceal the beast slumbering within. 

Oh, this meeting could bear many fruits.

*************************************************************************************************************

Wil was annoyed the moment she saw him. Hannibal Lecter, MD, PsyD, probably PhD too. He seemed like the type. She sighed.

All she wanted was to be left alone to do her job. However, being a woman in a male-dominated field made that almost impossible. She had known that since the beginning, thought she had been prepared for it going into the NOPD. The harassment wasn’t really more than good-natured ribbing at first, except for a handful of more old school types. After she got promoted to homicide fairly quickly by a superior who only marginally cared more for results than politics, that changed. Other officers would bump into her in the hallways and some of the braver ones would try to corner and intimidate her. They learned to stop doing that when she ruthlessly laid bare all of their insecurities and fears. Only once had that tactic nearly backfired on her when Officer Ledoux went to take a swing at her. Fortunately, he hadn’t been alone and his partner had stopped him, making sure to keep them away from each other after that. 

She discovered early on that she’d rather be thought of as a hard bitch than weak, so she’d honed her defenses, both mental and physical. She took Krav Maga classes twice a week and made sure that all of her paperwork was flawless, so the higher ups that didn’t like her couldn’t find any excuses for disciplinary action or an IA. Then she had gotten stabbed while she and her partner were going to arrest a subject. Regardless of their opinions of her, every officer in the area had responded to the call of a 108. But that was it, the end of her career there. Despite the fact that the suspect was apprehended, she’d had to call for backup and, even though she avoided it anyway, she couldn’t look any of them in the eye. No one would have thought twice about a male officer calling for assistance, but this somehow proved she was weaker than them. She took her recovery time to apply for graduate school and handed in her resignation letter a couple of days later. She was out of the state the next morning. 

Right now, she was angry at Jack Crawford. She had never approved of the way he demonized killers and made them less than human. As head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he should have been more aware of the dangers of that kind of thinking. She can catch these killers because she doesn’t see them as other and can imagine their motivations. They’re still humans, no matter what they’ve done.

Wil glared at Jack for a moment after he introduced her to the doctor before sitting down in the indicated chair and sipping her coffee. She hadn’t even wanted to go back to investigations, not at first. She didn’t catch nearly as much shit in her classroom as she would in the field. She already saw too deeply into killers’ minds through just pictures and she was able to sleep again after years away from firsthand views of scenes. But she had forgotten the thrill of working against the clock to save a life, the challenge of understanding a killer in time to stop him, the tangible proof that what she does works.

Now this fancy doctor-in-triplicate was being pulled into her investigation as if she weren’t good enough on her own. Jack thought she was mentally fragile both due to her ability to empathize and the fact that she was a woman. Granted, her empathy was emotionally and mentally taxing, but it had nothing to do with her being a woman. And if she were so fragile, what the hell good would she do out on crime scenes? She wanted to roll her eyes. 

It didn’t take her very long to realize that the good doctor was not there to help her, but to help Jack. “Whose profile are you working on? Whose profile is he working on?” she asked first Hannibal and then Jack.

“Wil,” he tried. 

“My apologies,” Hannibal began. “It’s what I do. I find it difficult to turn off. Same as you.”

She was done. “No one is like me. That’s how I know you’re full of shit.” She stood and grabbed her bags. “Jack, you’re the one who barged into my classroom and asked for my help. If my help is no longer good enough? Don’t waste my time.” She walked toward the door, but stopped and looked back at him. “Or better yet, if I’m not good enough to help you? Don’t waste the time of the victims and their families. They deserve justice, not your virgin-like fumblings trying to figure me out.” She allowed the door to close quietly behind her, instead of attempting to slam it, knowing the glass door of Jack’s office was made not to slam. Just because she was pissed didn’t mean she couldn’t think.

*************************************************************************************************************

“I am so sorry, Dr. Lecter. It must be that time of the month,” Jack commented as his door fully closed behind her.

“I don’t think so, Jack. You set up an ambush for her in the form of myself and when she realized it and confronted us, neither of us were willing to admit to the truth. As someone with her ability of pure empathy, she saw right through us and was understandably upset at our continued deception,” Hannibal explained calmly. “That is the beauty and the curse of what she can do; she can assume the point of view of you or me, perfectly. This killer you have her looking for, I believe I may be able to help our good Wil see his face.”

*************************************************************************************************************

Wil looked at the body on a stag’s head in the middle of a field, disgusted by what had been done to this woman, but also curious as to why she had been displayed in this manner.

“I can’t tell whether it’s sloppy or shrewd,” Jack said as he stared at the same scene.

‘And this would be why you brought me in,’ she thought to herself. She began her analysis of the scene aloud. “He wanted her found this way.” It was obvious to her that this was a tableau. The stag’s head had been stolen and the way she was draped over the antlers, feet delicately crossed over each other like so many images of Jesus on the cross... This wasn’t done carelessly. This had intention. “It’s petulant. I almost feel like he’s mocking her.” There were hints of that in her nudity, bared to God and all as if she had no modesty or didn’t deserve to hide her sins. And then the fact that she was pierced by antlers as Elise Nichols had been, but found with none of the dignity of the other girl flashed before her. The intention she had felt earlier in the display. “Or he’s mocking us,” she added as she crouched by the body. 

“Where did all of his love go?” Jack asked.

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “Whoever tucked Elise Nichols into bed didn’t paint this picture. This isn’t the same killer.” It was obvious in the artistry, mockery, and petulance of the display. It was nothing like the penance and remorse present in the previous scene.

“He ripped out her lungs,” Zeller told them. “I’m pretty sure she was alive when he did it.”

Pieces were clicking into place in her head. “Our cannibal loves women. He doesn’t want to destroy them. He wants to consume them, take them into him, and make them a part of him to keep with him. He would never humiliate them like this. Leaving her naked and exposed? Pierced on antlers in the middle of the open? That’s not love. The person who did this thought she was a pig. She was less than in his eyes. He put her in her place. She didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him, so he made sure she wouldn’t. This was disdain.” She stood and began to walk away, unwilling to look into the mind of this new killer any further. 

“You think this is a copycat?” Jack asked.

Frustrated that he could think anything else, she whirled around. “Elise Nichols’ killer had a place to do it and no interest in… field kabuki.” She wasn’t sure why she used that word, but it felt right. This display was a specific kind of theater. “He has a house or two or a cabin. Something with an antler room…” The difference between the two killings suddenly made the picture clear. Why would their cannibal love women and try to keep them with him in this way? Why so many? Why that build, coloration, and age? “He has a daughter, same age as the other girls. Same hair color, same eye color, same height, same weight. She’s an only child. His baby girl is leaving home. He can’t stand the thought of losing her. She’s his golden ticket.”

“What about the copycat?” Jack asked, stopping her get away again.

She had seen enough of him to know this. “An intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, with no particular motive? They’re very hard to catch. He may never kill this way again. Why don’t you ask Dr. Lecter? You seemed very impressed with his opinion earlier,” she bit out as she walked away.


	2. 24 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wil finds the Minnesota Shrike and nothing goes as planned.
> 
> She and Hannibal become a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DenaCeleste made me a banner~ I love her!!!!!!!!

She jerked awake at the knock on her door. She grabbed her gun off the nightstand and walked over to the door, peeking through the peephole. She marginally relaxed when she recognized Dr. Lecter. Why was he here? She opened the door, eyes squinting in the sunlight. She was only wearing a plain t-shirt and panties, but she didn’t care. This interaction would tell her quite a lot about the man.

“Good morning, Wil. May I come in?” He asked politely. His eyes had barely glanced over her body before returning to her face. That was ten points in his favor.

She debated the sanity of letting this man into her motel room. She barely knew him, though he hadn’t leered at her in her underwear. Jack seemed to trust him, but that didn’t mean shit to her. But Alana had recommended him to Jack and she was much more inclined to have faith in her friend’s judgement. Plus she had a gun.

“Where’s Jack?” she asked, wanting to know how long she’d have to wait with him.

“Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today. May I come in?”

She found that odd. She was pretty certain that she was only allowed to go into the field for investigation because she would have Jack with her. She was just a professor, after all. She almost shook her head at herself. Jack had made her a probationary Special Agent for this case. Dr. Lecter was the consultant this time around. If Jack had sent him to her today, maybe she wasn’t on the leash she thought she was on. She took a step back and let him into the room.

He set the bag he was carrying down on the table by the window, opening the curtain a bit as he did. “I’m very careful about what I put into my body, which means I end up making most of my meals myself.” He unpacked a few ceramic travel dishes, plates, and utensils, placing one of each in front of himself and where she had sat down at the table. “A little protein scramble to start the day,” he said as he uncovered her dish with a slight flourish. “Some eggs. Some sausage.”

A tiny bit of heat was coiling in her core at his deep, rough, accented voice. It was easier to appreciate the sound when it wasn’t dissecting her. She ignored the feeling and speared some of the food from the bowl, aware of his eyes on her. She wanted to smirk, but stopped herself. It was so obvious that he was seeking her approval of the meal he had provided. ‘Oh God,’ she thought. ‘Please tell me he doesn’t like me. Please let this be the usual male insecurity.’ Then she realized who it was she was thinking about. The man before her had nothing to be insecure about. He carried himself not with arrogance, but with the confidence so many men she encountered lacked. ‘He could still need validation,’ she tried to convince herself as she took a bite. She couldn’t stop the slight moan as the flavor hit her tongue. “This is delicious. Thank you. The light smoky flavor is particularly good.” There was no way the man had any doubts about his abilities in the kitchen. She glanced up to see how he took her compliment and was surprised that he wasn’t smiling or even looking at her. He was emptying his bowl onto the plate he had brought. ‘He is European. And he is friends with Alana. Maybe he’s just being polite.’ Reassured, she relaxed as she upended her own bowl. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he responded to her compliment before continuing. “I would like to apologize for my analytical ambush, though I fear I will be apologizing again soon and you’ll tire of it eventually.”

She hadn’t had enough coffee to figure out what he meant by that or how to respond to it. “Let’s just keep it professional.” She realized as soon as she said it that it was already impossible. She was sitting in her underwear, alone with him in her motel room, eating food he had brought over for her. She was already far more comfortable with him than she was with people she had known for years. She worried that it might be her feelings she needed to be concerned about more than his.

“Or we could socialize like adults. God forbid we should become friendly,” Dr. Lecter said with a smile.

“I don’t find you that interesting,” she immediately responded. She wanted to wince at how defensive she sounded. She should definitely be more concerned about her own feelings.

“You will,” he promised. 

She wanted to find the certainty with which he said it threatening, but the truth was she already did find him interesting. 

“Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters.”

She sighed in frustration and pushed her plate away, appetite lost. Jack would phrase it that way. She decided to steer a bit away from where Dr. Lecter was heading. “I don’t think the Shrike killed that girl in the field.”

He leaned forward, fully engaged in what she was saying. “The devil is in the details. What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the field? What gave it away?”

She was amazed at how good it felt to not have to fight someone to be heard when she knew she was right, at having someone show interest and wanting to know more instead of looking at her with unease. He wanted to understand and instead of being condescending, he asked in a straightforward way. This could get dangerous. ‘He’s a psychiatrist,’ she reminded herself. ‘This is what he’s paid to do.’ “Everything,” she whispered, trying to stay on track. “It’s like he had to show me a negative so that I could see the positive. It…” She covered her face with her hands for a second to compose herself. “That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped.” It did almost seem like a present just for her. It was disturbing in a few ways, one being that she almost appreciated it.

“The mathematics of human behaviour--all those ugly variables. Some bad math with this Shrike fellow, huh?” 

She poured some coffee for herself instead of answering.

“Are you reconstructing his fantasies?” She huffed, which he must have taken as some sort of affirmative as he asked a second question. “What kind of problems does he have?”

“He has a few,” she murmured, taking a sip of the coffee black. She was surprised at the earthy, almost sweet flavor.

“You ever have any problems, Wil?”

‘And out comes the shrink,’ she thought. “No.” She tugged her plate back over as her stomach growled.

“You and I are just alike--problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.” She took a bite of the sausage, hating how good it tasted, as he continued. “You know, Wil, I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest china reserved only for special guests.”

The absurdity, and niggling fear that he may be right, made her laugh. It was funny in a way. The idea that she was fragile just because she was female had followed her around her entire life. It also made her remember that her father’s idea of ‘fine china’ was the plastic Coca-Cola cups he had stolen from a Pizza Hut when she was five because she liked the logo. She noticed the soft smile on Dr. Lecter’s face and the way the light shone through his feathery bangs and couldn’t stop herself wanting to know. “How do you see me?”

He looked into her eyes and said, “The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.”

It was such a bizarre comment, especially to be directed at her and she furrowed her brow. It was most definitely a compliment, but she had never heard anything like it. It wasn’t backhanded or meant to detract from her abilities to protect and defend, in fact, it highlighted them. It spoke of a confidence in her that he had after only knowing her for a couple of days that people she had worked with for years had never possessed. She wanted to ask, but before she could, he gave her an order that she had no issues following.

“Finish your breakfast.”

*************************************************************************************************************

Her ears were buzzing and her vision was blurry. Her skin felt tacky where the blood had begun to dry on her hands and face. Her shirt sleeves, rolled up to her elbows, were sticking to her as well. She stared straight ahead, eyes not tracking the first responders moving around her, but aware of their movements in a distant way.

A hand hesitatingly touched her shoulder and her jaw clenched at the sensation.

“Wil?” an accented voice asked softly, so many questions evident in the tone. “I’ve spoken with Jack Crawford and given him my professional opinion that you should be released from duty for today and your interview regarding the deadly force encounter be delayed for the time being. He has agreed and is on his way to take over the scene. He’s relayed his instructions to the officer-in-charge and you are to be released into my care for now. I do not believe you should be alone right now, so I’m going to take you to your motel room to get your things and I’m bringing you to my hotel. I’m going to arrange for a suite with two rooms. Is that alright?” 

She tilted her head down slightly, which Lecter took as agreement.

“I’ll need the keys,” he pointed out gently, holding out his other hand.

It took a second for the words to process before she moved to pull them out of her pocket and gave them over.

He took them and the hand on her shoulder moved down to between her shoulder blades, guiding her toward the car.

She didn’t remember the drive. She came back to herself in the shower, looking down at the red sliding from her hands down her arms to drip off of her elbows and join the water swirling around the drain. 

Her stomach took a sudden swoop and she gritted her teeth against the wave of nausea trying to overwhelm her. She was breathing slowly through her nose to keep from throwing up even as her eyes threatened the first sting of tears. She would not cry. She didn’t cry when she got stabbed, she would not cry now when she hadn’t been injured at all. 

She swallowed against the heavy ball choking her. It could be guilt or disgust. It could even be disappointment, but she didn’t care to identify the feeling just now. It didn’t matter what it was anyway. Garrett Jacob Hobbs had gotten his golden ticket, had been able to take her with him in the end, even if it wasn’t the way he had kept the others. Her arms suddenly felt heavy with the weight of the girl’s blood on her hands. It didn’t matter that she took down the killer. She hadn’t been fast enough to save anyone.

She hid her face in her hands as she began to cry, the smell of copper reminding her of her failure with each inhale. It didn’t take long for the force of her sobs to cause her to vomit. It was mostly bile as she hadn’t eaten since Hannibal had brought her breakfast that morning. 

She coughed as she stood back up, unsure when she had fallen to her knees in the shower. She pulled herself together as best she could and went through her usual washing routine until she knew she was clean even if she didn’t feel it. She stepped out into the bathroom and found all of her necessities sitting on the counter. She dried off, then dressed in her pajamas and combed out her hair before brushing her teeth. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and steeled herself before walking into the suite. She was surprised to see dinner set out on the table next to the kitchenette. 

“Feeling better?” Hannibal asked as he pulled out a chair and beckoned her over.

“Yeah, a bit” she croaked out as she took her place at the table.

“You need to eat, but I didn’t think you would want anything heavy, so I’ve made a simple sausage and vegetable soup, using the ingredients I had left over from breakfast.

She looked into her bowl and raised an eyebrow. “This is from leftovers?” she asked, incredulously. 

“I plan out my meals in advance so that I don’t waste any ingredients. I had a fairly simple meal in mind for this evening and it was nothing to make it into a hearty soup instead.” He gave her a small smile. “Bon appetit.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered as she began to eat. 

Hannibal quickly took up the mantle of keeping up conversation during dinner by talking about the upcoming season for the Baltimore Opera and which performances he was most looking forward to seeing. Wil didn’t participate at all, but Hannibal didn’t seem to mind.

After they were both done eating, he cleaned up their dishes while she watched. He came back to the table and reached out his hand to her. It only took her a moment to decide to take his hand and let him lead her to the sofa. They sat down and he turned toward her.

“Wil, I’m sure you know there’s going to be an interview with Jack and Internal Affairs regarding what happened today.”

She jerked her hand away and turned so he was stuck looking at her profile. “The subject, Garret Jacob Hobbs, murdered his wife and daughter. I shot the subject in an attempt to prevent him from killing the daughter, but was unsuccessful,” she stated mechanically.

“Wil, he completely severed the carotid. There was no way you could have saved her. I was a trauma surgeon and saw such injuries during my time. There was nothing you could have done.” He put his hand on top of hers. 

“I could have figured it out sooner. Called for backup as soon as I thought it might be him,” she answered.

“Crawford told me himself that we were just investigating and doing interviews. That was why it was just the two of us. You found no evidence of what he was prior to arriving at the house. You had no reason to call for backup,” he tried to tell her.

She shook her head. “If I thought he might be the killer, I should have called the local authorities and asked for support.”

“Would it have changed the outcome? Would having uniformed officers in marked patrol cars have made him react any differently? You didn’t even know for sure he was the killer until you saw him murder his wife. What do you think you could have done, Wil?” He reached out slowly, giving her time to move away, and grabbed her shoulder gently.

That was all she needed for the dams to break back open. She began sobbing again and didn’t resist when he used his grip on her shoulder to bring her to his chest. She hadn’t allowed herself this kind of comfort since she was a little girl. But she could still feel Garrett Jacob Hobbs lurking in the back of her mind, regretting that he couldn’t make his daughter a part of him. The copycat was also there, cold and full of disdain. As Hannibal gently rubbed her back and hummed softly, she was glad she had his warmth to fall into.

*************************************************************************************************************

Hannibal held her as she cried herself to sleep, enjoying the feeling of a warm body curling into him instead of fighting to get away. After her breaths evened out, he put his nose to her hair and inhaled deeply. He could smell the light musk that was her own natural scent layered over by his shampoo. He closed his eyes as he felt a stirring in his loins at the combination. He allowed himself to hold her as he contemplated the feelings that were making an appearance. It was not dissimilar to how he felt for Alana, but she had never caused physical arousal, only mental when they had intellectual conversations. Wil excited all of him, even the killer, though not in the way that part of him was usually stimulated. She was something special.

He carried her into the bedroom which had been designated as hers and carefully tucked her into bed. He stared down at her as he brushed her hair behind her ear. He took in the tears that shimmered on her eyelashes and the tracks they had left over her pink cheeks. Those tears were partially caused by him as he knew he could have saved Abigail. If he had joined them a few moments earlier, he could have stemmed the flow of blood enough to keep her alive until paramedics arrived, but he hadn’t. Abigail’s death had been more useful to him as it had allowed him to be present when Wil shattered and turned to him to try to hold her together. He ran a knuckle along one of the paths her tears had taken. She was beautiful. He shook himself and went to his own room. He pulled out his sketchpad and pencil before making himself comfortable in the chair provided. He let his hand draw as he thought about what it was he wanted to do next. A few hours later, he had a plan, though he still had some minor alterations to make. 

He looked down at what he had created and wasn’t completely surprised to find he had drawn Wilhelmina. She was sitting up in a bed, sheets pulled around her to hide her modesty. There was blood spatter on her face and the sheets. Her hands and feet looked like they had been dipped in blood, with it fading the further up her limbs it went. There was a gleam in her eye and a come hither smirk on her lips. He was definitely going to have to add color to this one. He realized how affected he was by the image when he had to adjust himself as he stood. He sighed as he tucked away his sketchbook and pencils. It seemed the plan he had come up with would need more than a few changes.

*************************************************************************************************************

The next morning, she was pulled together when she exited her bedroom. She was wearing an obviously old, baggy New Orleans Saints sweater and a pair of jeans with work boots. Her hair was in a high ponytail and her glasses, which had been cleaned of blood, sat primly on the bridge of her nose.

“Good morning, Wil. I hope you slept well,” he opened as he set down a carafe of coffee along with cream and sugar on the table.

“I slept fine. Thank you,” she tersely responded, stopping next to the table, but making no move to sit down. “I appreciate what you did for me yesterday, but it won’t happen again.”

He furrowed his brow as he looked up at her. “Do you feel you are weak because you had a moment of vulnerability in front of me?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me!” she snapped. She put her hands up as she stepped back and took a deep breath. “My apologies. I don’t relish in being psychoanalyzed, though I understand it must be routine behavior for you to fall back upon.” When she straightened back up, her shoulders were pulled back and she had clasped her hands behind her. It was the same posture he assumed when he was holding himself under control. 

He let out a soft breath of exhilaration at her unintentional copying of him. He cleared his throat and gestured to the seat she had occupied the night before. “I warned you already that I felt I would have to hold onto my apologies with you lest I make too many. It was not my intention to discomfit you. I’m just trying to understand your reasonings.”

She tipped her chin down and sat. “It’s quite alright. I may have been feeling a bit defensive.” She picked up the napkin and set it on her lap. “What are we having this morning?”

“I found a bakery nearby that bakes croissants daily so I visited them this morning. Then on my way back to the hotel, I happened upon a farmer’s market where I procured some fresh fruit. I often bring cheeses and cured meats with me in case a quick lunch or snack is in order and since we are leaving today, I thought we could eat them. Please forgive the presentation. I had to borrow a tray from the kitchens.”

He laid the tray, artfully arranged with a large circle of alternating cheese and meat slices with a basket of croissants in the middle. Next he set down a large plate with apple wedges and bunches of grapes and raspberries. 

“No complaints on the presentation from me,” she said, looking at the arrangement of food before her. She piled a few pieces of everything onto her plate. When she bit into the croissant with a slice of meat and cheese on top, her eyes fluttered and she let out a soft sound of delight. “This is delicious! Where did you get the meat and cheese?” she asked, after she swallowed her bite.

“The cheese comes from a shop in Baltimore called Jose’s. The meat I cured myself.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said you make most of your food yourself.”

He grinned. “No, I was not. Jack contacted me last night with the details of our return to the East Coast.”

“Oh?” she asked, popping a grape into her mouth. “When is our flight?”

“I’m afraid that we will be on different flights. You’re going to Dulles and I’m going to Baltimore.”

“Oh.” She was surprised at the mixed emotions that came from knowing their time together was ending. She really hoped it hadn’t translated into her tone. “What time is my flight?”

He glanced at his watch. “Your flight is at 11, so we’ll leave in around forty-five minutes.”

She nodded and they finished their meal in companionable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I killed Abigail. She was more useful to Hannibal dead than alive in this universe. I'm not sorry.


	3. Evaluation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wil survives her IA meeting and goes to her first appointment with Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DenaCeleste made me a banner and yes I will be putting it at the beginning of every chapter and giving her credit each time. <3

Wil walked out of the IA meeting to see Alana Bloom waiting for her. 

She smiled softly. “Hi, Wil. You wanna go grab a bite to eat?”

Wil nodded tiredly and matched pace with the other woman as they exited the building. 

“Dumfries Cafe?” Alana asked as they began to go to their separate cars.

“Sure,” Wil replied, relieved that Alana had suggested somewhere just a bit further out from Quantico. 

Ten minutes later, they both pulled up and went inside to get a table.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Alana asked.

“Nope,” was her quick answer as she looked over her menu. 

“Okay.” She nodded and looked over her own menu.

After the waitress brought them water and took their order, Wil spoke up. “Jack & IA want me to see a shrink.”

Alana raised an eyebrow. “Not me, I hope.”

Wil chuckled. “No. Not you. Jack wants me to see Dr. Lecter.”

Alana frowned. “While Hannibal is an amazing psychiatrist, he went through the experience with you. I’m not sure if he’s the best person to help you process it.”

Wil shrugged. “Jack thinks because I let Dr. Lecter… support me in the immediate aftermath that we already have a relationship that can be built upon. You know, since psychiatry doesn’t work on me, he’s hoping a sense of camaraderie will help me to open up.” She frowned as if the words had left a bitter taste in her mouth and took a gulp of water.

“Did they offer to pay for the appointments? Because Hannibal’s sessions are not cheap.”

“That would be why the IA didn’t necessarily agree with Jack’s suggestion,” Wil said with a smile. 

“Oh, I see.” Alana smiled and took a sip of her own water. “You know,” she began, hesitating for a moment before plunging forward. “Hannibal was my mentor during my residency. We became very close and when Jack asked my opinion about bringing you back into the field, I--”

“Wait, Jack talked to you about bringing me back into the field? When?”

“Uh, soon after Elise Nichols’ abduction,” Alana answered, becoming nervous.

“What did you say?” Will asked, agitated.

“I told him that I wouldn’t put you out there if it were up to me, but it wasn’t. He wanted me to give you a psych eval and I said no because I’m your friend and I didn’t think you’d agree anyway. He asked me who I would recommend and I told him Hannibal. Though I didn’t expect Jack to pull him into the investigation. I recommended him as a potential evaluator of you going back into the field, not to provide a profile of the killer. I thought that was why he dragged you out of your classroom!” 

Wil snorted. “Yeah. No. He called Dr. Lecter in to do a psychological profile of me.”

“Excuse me. He did what?” Alana asked coldly.

“He never explicitly said that’s what he brought Hannibal in for, but some of his first comments to me were very pointed,” Wil said as their food was set down.

“Ah,” Alana responded, starting in on her salad. 

They both ate for a minute before Alana spoke again. “Hannibal’s the one who called Jack and said you couldn’t be interviewed right away. Jack was insistent that he be allowed to talk to you, but Hannibal shut him down.” She paused to take a bite before continuing. “So what happened after that?” Alana asked. At Wil’s raised eyebrow, she clarified, “I’m asking as a friend who cares about you, Wil. Not a psychiatrist.”

“Not just as a psychiatrist, you mean.”

“Well, it isn’t as if I can keep secrets from my psychiatrist self…”

Wil laughed. “That’s true. Alright. I don’t remember everything. I guess I was in shock. I came around in the shower. Hannibal made dinner and then I cried on him. Cried myself to sleep, actually. I woke up in my bed. We had breakfast and drove to the airport.”

Alana pursed her lips and sighed. “At least you cried. That’s cathartic. How are you now?”

Wil took the opportunity to look around the cafe and took another bite to delay having to answer. Alana patiently waited her out. “I’ll be fine. I’m dealing with it.”

“Are you?”

Wil glared. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated with a finality that signaled the end of that conversation.

****************************************************************************************************

She prepared herself before going into the lecture hall. Word traveled fast, especially among law enforcement. She had never met a group of people who gossiped more actually. Her students had no doubt heard by now. She knew she was correct when she received a standing ovation upon entering.

“Stop that. It’s inappropriate. An innocent girl and an innocent woman are dead. Don’t applaud.”

“But you stopped him. You stopped a serial killer, Ms. Graham. He’ll never kill again. That’s the job,” one of her students said, just loud enough for her to hear over the fading applause.

She turned and faced the room, anger in her eyes. “Our job isn’t to kill people. Our job is to apprehend those who do wrong so that justice may be served. Sometimes there’s no other way to stop them than to kill them, but it’s not an outcome that should be celebrated. Lethal force is a last resort. And if you don’t agree, you don’t need to be here.”

The room went silent and she dimmed the lights to begin her lesson.

****************************************************************************************************

As the students left her classroom, she saw Alana come in. That wasn’t a good sign. She was proven right when she saw Jack enter the room behind her. 

“Did they come to a decision already?” she asked Jack, stuffing her supplies in her bag. 

“They did. It wasn’t difficult. The evidence at the scene as well yours and Dr. Lecter’s testimonies show that you were trying to save that girl.”

‘And failed.’ She shook her head a bit. “Anything else?”

“You’re up for a commendation.” She scoffed and he ignored her. “And they’ve approved your return to the field.” She paused to look up at him.

“If you want to return to the field,” Alana hastened to add.

“I want her to return to the field,” Jack said, looking at Alana and disregarding Wil’s thoughts on the matter in one move of his head. He turned back to Wil. “The board has approved your return to fieldwork pending a psych eval by Dr. Lecter. I think he’s a better fit than Dr. Bloom. You’re more likely to be honest with him considering he was there.”

‘Which means you think I would lie to someone else.’ Bag in hand, she began to walk toward the door. “I don’t want anyone else in my head.” ‘I’ve got enough company as it is,’ she thought to herself.

Alana stopped her. “You’ve never killed anyone before, Wil. It was a deadly force encounter and it’s a lot to digest.”

Wil turned back to face them. “I used to work Homicide,” she reminded them.

“And you became a teacher because you couldn’t pull the trigger. You just pulled the trigger ten times!” 

Will sighed. “Therapy doesn’t work on me, Jack. I know all of the tricks.”

“Well, maybe you need to unlearn them.”

Alana hurried to interrupt. “Maybe just have a conversation with Hannibal. Even if I don’t think he’s the best person to help you process the event since he was there, it can only help you to talk about it with someone.”

Wil rolled her eyes and walked away.

****************************************************************************************************

The first thing she did upon entering Hannibal’s office was flee to higher ground. She knew there was no logical or real advantage to being above him, but it made her feel better. And she was going to make this as painless as possible for herself, everyone else be damned.

She watched as he walked over to his desk and wrote something down. He went to the center of the room, paper in hand, and waited patiently.

“What’s that?” she asked, jerking her chin toward the paper.

“It’s your psychological evaluation. You are totally functional and more or less sane. Well done.”

She began to walk along the bookcase, uncomfortable. “Did you just rubber stamp me?”

“I don’t want our conversation to be hindered by paperwork. I want you to be able to speak freely and without worry.”

“Jack thinks I need therapy and it would seem you agree.”

“What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there,” he told her, eyes following her steps.

“Last time he sent me into a dark place, I brought something back.”

“And what was that?” Hannibal asked.

Her step faltered and she paused. The spectre of Garrett Jacob Hobbs flashed before her eyes and she swallowed, focusing her sight on the elk statue by the door. “Guilt,” she lied.

“You feel guilty for not being able to save Abigail Hobbs and her mother? In order to feel guilt, you must first feel responsibility. Did you feel it was your responsibility to save her?”

She huffed a laugh as she reached the corner and wrapped her hand around the thinner part of the column. “That’s part of my job as law enforcement. You took a Hippocratic oath, doctor. Do you feel any responsibility? Or guilt?”

“I feel a tremendous amount of responsibility.” That statement stopped her movements as she focused fully on him. “I’ve fantasized different scenarios where my actions may have allowed a different fate for Abigail Hobbs, but none of those scenarios are what happened. And I do not hold onto guilt. Holding onto guilt when you did nothing wrong is unhealthy. You did nothing wrong, Wil.”

“Is this therapy or a support group?” she bit out, continuing her walk around the mezzanine.

He didn’t respond until she looked at him again. “It’s whatever you need it to be.”

She immediately looked away as she felt an odd weight in her chest. 

“Wil.”

She took a breath and allowed her gaze to meet his again.

“The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.”

She closed her eyes as she grabbed onto the railing. She wasn't sure if that thought was comforting.


	4. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a killer growing mushrooms. Hannibal and Wil are inching forward in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful and lovely Dena Celeste made me an image! I'm beyond thrilled.
> 
> I'm also very excited about how this fic had been received! I was very nervous about it. Thanks to all of you for reading!

She was in the gun range, practicing her aim. It had scared her that it had taken so many bullets to put Hobbs down. It shouldn’t have taken that many. She didn’t want it to take that many. The longer it took for her to take someone down, the more time they had to come after her.

She unloaded the magazine into the target before bringing it forward for her to check her grouping. She looked down the lane, but it wasn’t the paper target coming for her. It was Garrett Jacob Hobbs. His bullet-riddled and bleeding corpse came steadily faster as she rushed to take out the empty magazine and insert a new one. 

“See?” She heard Garrett’s voice whisper, though his lips didn’t move. “See?” “See?” “See?” reverberated around her, louder than the bullets she was frantically firing, desperate to stop him.

The echo of the bullets changed to something sharper and she jerked awake in Jack’s car. It had been him knocking on the window. 

“We’re here,” he said before walking off.

Her exhale shuddered out of her and she ran her fingers through her hair. She had a light layer of sweat on her scalp from the dream. She took a few deep breaths and pulled her hair back into a ponytail before getting out of the car. The asshole couldn’t have gently shaken her shoulder when they parked?

The scene was grotesque. She’d seen bodies in decomp before, but never like this. Never on purpose. Decomposition was usually a result or a secondary goal after a murder to hide the evidence. But here, it was the motivation behind the murder.

She looked at the bodies that had been uncovered, letting what the others said filter in and asking questions as they came to her. After Jack cleared the scene, she took a deep breath and allowed herself to fall into someone else’s mind.

****************************************************************************************************

Seeing Garrett Jacob Hobbs in the grave wasn’t right. She frowned. The identities of the victims here were irrelevant. Hobbs was significant. He was hers. She felt herself begin to surface and struggled to go back under. She wasn’t done.

Someone grabbing her wrist jolted her all of the way out and she gasped. She trembled as she looked down in confusion. A corpse was holding onto her. She stared blankly as the thing in the ground struggled to pull in breath.

She heard shouting and ripped herself from it’s grasp, backing into a tree in her retreat. This was real. It was real. He was real. None of this was in her mind. There was a living person in the shallow grave that she had just imagined Hobbs lying in.

Wil’s breaths became short and she recognized the tendrils of panic wrapping around her heart. She needed to ground herself now. Looking over the heads of the agents scrambling around the grave, she focused on the leaves on the trees. She forced herself to inhale in for the amount of time it took her to count out seven individual orange leaves. She held her breath for four still green ones and then exhaled while counting seven yellow. She did this until she felt her shoulders relax and come down on an exhale.

She took a few more breaths before looking around for Jack and walking over to him, ready to leave.

****************************************************************************************************

Hannibal was surprised when Wil called and asked if he was available to see her that day. He assured her he had the time and told her to come by after his last appointment. When she came into the office, she had a nervous energy, yet was also hesitant. 

She placed a copy of her psychological evaluation on his desk. “This, uh, may have been premature…”

He looked up at her as she ducked her head down and turned away. “What did you see? Out there in the field.”

She turned back to him and lifted her head as she licked her lips and crossed her arms protectively. “Hobbs,” she said softly.

“An association?” 

She shook her head and cleared her throat. She leaned back against a pillar, comforted by something solid against her back. “Well, it might have been? It felt more like a hallucination. I was reconstructing the crime scene and I saw him lying in someone else’s grave.”

“Did you tell Jack what you saw?”

She made an incredulous face. “No!” she replied vehemently.

“It’s stress. You displaced the victim of another’s killers crime with what could arguably be considered your victim.”

She shook her head at the electric zing that went through her. “No. Hobbs is not my victim,” she stated. 

“What is he to you then?” he questioned.

She shrugged. “Dead.”

Hannibal paused for a few moments. “Is it more difficult for you to imagine the thrill someone else feels killing now that you’ve done it yourself?”

She hugged herself, unsure if she was trying to keep him out or keep something in. Her heart began pounding and she felt her breathing quicken. Could she trust him? Should she trust him? It felt like he could see into her soul and that terrified her. She locked eyes with him and, making a decision, slowly nodded. 

Hannibal felt a thrill at getting her to open up and make the first admittance to her darkness. He was making progress with her far more quickly than he expected. She wanted someone to connect to and he knew she could sense something complementary in him. He walked around the desk toward her, stalking forward. He had to resist the urge to grin as she held his gaze almost defiantly.

“Tell me more about this killer you’re hunting.”

She summed up the case, giving him the details that stood out to her.

“The arms. Why did he leave them exposed? To hold their hands? To feel the life leaving their bodies?” He asked the last one with a little huff of laughter. 

She responded in kind as she moved away from his attempt to approach her more directly. “No. That’s too esoteric for someone who took the time to bury his victims in a straight line. He’s more practical.”

“He was cultivating them,” Hannibal proposed.

Wil shook her head as she moved around him and leaned against his desk, not really thinking about what she was doing. “He was keeping them alive. He was feeding them intravenously.”

“But your farmer let his crops die. Save for the one who didn’t.” Hannibal followed her and stopped near her, subtly emphasizing his height over her.

“Well, the one who didn’t died on the way the way to the hospital. They weren’t crops; they were the fertilizer. The bodies were covered in fungus.” 

Hannibal leaned down over the back of his chair to be on her level, showing her with his body language that he was willing to meet her on her level, while still being careful to keep the chair between them for her comfort. “The structure of a fungus mirrors that of the human brain-- an intricate web of connections.” He didn’t have to wait long for her to put it together.

She gave a short gasp. “So maybe he admires their ability to connect the way human minds can’t.”

Hannibal was quick to latch onto the opening she had given him, staring at her. “Yours can.”

She laughed, awkward, and avoided his eyes. “Yeah… Um, not physically.”

Hannibal stood and looked away, licking his lips as he briefly pondered the idea of connecting with Wil physically. He missed the way she grimaced at her unintentional double entendre. She wanted to groan. This was one of many reasons she hadn’t been able to hold down a relationship. Can’t connect physically? Why didn’t she just tell him all about her extremely lackluster sex life and the way her empathy had interfered?

“Is that what your farmer is looking for? Some sort of connection?”

His voice seemed to rumble on the question. With that sound reverberating through her and her thoughts revolving around sex, it took her a second to remember what they were talking about. “Maybe,” she muttered even as she felt a piece slotting into place where she kept her killers.


	5. Unfound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't find their killer and Wil feels a bit lost.

After she realized all of the victims were diabetic and their killer had to have a medical connection, it wasn’t long before they found him. Along with a full S.W.A.T. unit, they made their way through the store to the pharmacy as Jack filled her in on why they were certain this was their killer.

“She’s the chain’s tenth diabetic customer to disappear after filling a prescription for insulin, the second from this exact location.”

“And the other eight?”

“All over the county. One pharmacist all over the county as well.”

“A floater, huh?” They walked through frozen and she made a mental note to buy more waffles. 

“Still floating. He’s still logged into his work station.”

‘Duh. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here with a full S.W.A.T. team,’ she thought to herself.

They turned the corner and Jack began shouting, everyone jumping to follow his command. 

When the employees began looking at each other, trying to find Stammets, she knew he wasn’t in the store. “Is his car still in the parking lot?”

The manager turned to look out the window, searching, and Jack repeated her question in a yell. ‘Unnecessary.’ Screaming at people that were already at gunpoint wasn’t going to help. 

It was there and they rushed outside to it. As they approached the vehicle, she realized he hadn’t had a chance to start his new garden and yet there was a woman missing. “Give me your baton,” she ordered the nearest officer, who handed it over immediately. She stood to the side of the window before using the baton to break it. She leaned in just far enough to pull the lever to open the trunk and ran around to it, covering her mouth and nose as the unexpected stench of manure quickly became apparent. She ignored the smell as soon as she saw the face mask sticking out and dug her hands in, looking for a pulse. “She’s alive!” she shouted, knowing one of the officers would radio dispatch for an ambulance. 

Jack came up, coughing and covering his face. In the back of her mind, she sneered at him. Her dogs smelled worse when they found roadkill in the summer. Also, this woman’s life was on the line and that was more important to her than preserving her nose. As two S.W.A.T. members with med bags came up, she and Jack backed off. 

“Okay. We’ve got his name. We’ve got his address. We’ve got his car.”

To her, those were not good things because it was likely to make the man desperate. 

Jimmy jogged up, interrupting them. “Jack. We just checked the browser history at Stammet’s workstation.”

“Am I gonna want to hear this?” Jack asked.

“No,” Jimmy replied honestly. “And yes… But mostly no.”

Her stomach clenched in apprehension. This wasn’t going to be good.

When they came back inside, Beverly was at the computer. Zeller greeting them with a name: Freddie Lounds.

“Tattlecrime.com,” Jack said with a sigh. 

Beverly began reading aloud what was on the screen. “‘The FBI isn’t just hunting psychopaths, they’re headhunting them too, offering competitive pay and benefits in the hopes of using one demented mind--” She cut herself off and glanced at Wil. “It’s about Wil.”

Wil looked over her shoulder to see the headline “It Takes One To Know One” over a picture of her from Stammet’s mushroom garden. She could tell from the blank look on her face that she had been inside the man’s mind at the time and was recreating his crimes. She locked her jaw and breathed through her nose as she read what she could of the screen, picking up where Beverly left off and ignoring her and Jack. ‘--to catch another. Sure, we’re familiar with the stereotype of the FBI profiler, swaggering onto a crime scene, fitting the pieces together like a puzzle master with a 1000-piece jigsaw. In reality these profilers should be likened to harridans reading a cup of spent tealeaves -- passing off their active imaginations as incisive fact.’ 

She was who insisted on the phrase ‘active imagination’ and Jack had went along with it. It was obvious Freddie had access to someone who knew her and her process. The cold memory of the men in her past putting down what she did just because she was better at the job than them. Most of them had been angry about it purely because she was a woman and so lesser in their eyes. They trivialized everything she did just because she was the one who did it. This was why she had left law enforcement. How could she have allowed herself to forget what had really worn her down and made her decide to teach?

****************************************************************************************************

She went back to her office that night to write up her report and grab some papers she needed to grade. She was not leaving her house tomorrow. She sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen when she heard hoofsteps. She looked up at the open door and saw a feathered stag walk by. She stood and followed it into the hallway. She watched as it turned a corner, but didn’t move to follow it further. The lights at the end of the hallway flickered and went dark. The next section did the same, then the next. The darkness was coming for her. She tilted her head down and waited. She wouldn’t run from it this time…

“Wil?”

She lifted her head off her keyboard, surprised to see Alana standing over her. “Huh?”

“What are you doing sleeping here?”

She sat up all the way and groaned at the twinge in her back when she did. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to get my report in tonight and not have to come back tomorrow if I don’t need to.”

“That’s good,” she responded. An uncomfortable silence settled over them, both aware of the elephant in the room. Finally, Alana broke the quiet. “I’m about to broach the subject of that “Takes One to Know One” article.” 

“Did Jack send you?” she asked, leaning back against her chair. 

“No, I sent me.”

Wil really looked at her friend for a moment. She was so beautiful. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “I don’t think we’ve ever been alone in a room together.”

An plastic smile immediately spread across her face. “Haven’t we? I hadn’t noticed.”

‘Lie.’ “Okay, let’s talk about being ‘Jack Crawford’s crime gimp’.”

Alana didn’t hesitate to latch onto the return to the original topic. “It does certainly create an image. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

‘Even though you’re who brought the subject up.’ “We can talk about or not talk about whatever you want, Alana.”

Awkwardness settled around them again.Their friendship was easier before she had gone back into the field. Everything was easier before she had gone back into the field. She sighed.

“Do you feel sorry for yourself that you weren’t able to save Abigail Hobbs?” she asked gently.

“I don’t. I don’t feel sorry for myself at all.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I feel, um… I feel…” ‘Like I can’t trust you like I used to.’ The thought made tears prick her eyes. “I feel okay,” she lied. “Hannibal’s helping me a lot more than you thought he would.” She looked down at being unable to resist the desire to jab at the other woman. 

“Oh!” She sounded surprised, which was to be expected given Wil’s stance on most psychiatrists. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“I’m gonna go home now,” Wil said, saving her work and locking her computer. “I didn’t mean to stay here this late. The dogs will need to go out.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll see you later then.” Alana seemed more relieved to have the conversation over than anything as she hurried to door. Wil watched her go and refused to examine the spot of hurt growing in her chest.


	6. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wil has a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of a post last weekend. I really struggled with this chapter and oddly enough managed to do most of it while avoiding working on my resume...... Also a pretty short chapter, but I was eager to get it posted.
> 
> I've got an imgur post with Will's dogs and Emmy Rossum as my Wil Graham.
> 
> Dogs: https://imgur.com/a/Gh8W1xE  
> Wil: https://imgur.com/a/iGo3KQY
> 
> Also, DENA MADE ME A BANNER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 <3 <3

Wil sat on her porch, enjoying the fresh air as she brushed her dogs. She was in the middle of untangling and trimming Max when she heard a growl behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Winston, staring down the road. As soon as she turned back to see what he was growling at, Buster began barking and the rest followed.

There was a car driving down the road, going slowly enough that it was obvious the driver was looking for something. The unease in her chest didn’t lessen as the car continued past her driveway. She watched it disappear and the dogs quieted as it moved out of sight.

She went back to combing and trimming, the muscles between her shoulder blades tensing. She rolled her shoulders out and cracked her neck, forcing herself to relax. She could still feel tension sitting at the base of her neck, but took a few deep breaths, hoping to alleviate it a bit.

She was trimming around Winston’s mouth when she heard her phone ring through the open front door and recognized Jack’s ringtone immediately. She rolled her eyes and groaned, her dogs joining the chorus. She shushed them with success, except for Buster. “Sit,” she ordered Winston and he immediately obeyed. She wiped her hands off on her shirt and grabbed the trimming scissors, sliding them into her back pocket, before heading into the house. 

Her phone was on her craft desk near the front door, so it only took her a second to reach it. “Hello, Jack,” she greeted as she answered it.

He skipped the common courtesy to get straight to the point. “Eldon Stammets tracked down Freddie Lounds and killed the local detective she was with. He wanted to know about you.”

Her stomach dropped and she felt a tingling in her throat. “What did she tell him?”

“A lot. We think he may be coming for you.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, throat closing around the sound.

“I have local PD on the way to your house right now.”

She heard growling again and looked through the screen door at her newest companion. Winston was staring straight through to the back door, his tail moving stiffly and slowly side-to-side. His growl was low and deep.

The car from earlier came back to the forefront of her mind. “I think they might be too late, Jack,” she said softly.

“What?” he bit out, disbelief evident in his voice.

She didn’t answer him, instead turning the volume on the call as low as it would go and setting the phone on her desk, sliding a dark paper on top to cover the screen. Her handgun was in the nightstand. Her rifle was underneath her desk, so it was closer, but more unwieldy in close quarters. She made her decision and went for her handgun. 

She had just reached her nightstand when her dogs began barking at the same time she heard her back door open. Wil had the safety off, gun at the ready. She was a heartbeat from turning to the archway separating the living room from the kitchen when she heard a bang from the front door. She turned to see Winston had jumped up to put his paws on the screen door, clawing, desperate to get inside. 

It was the opening Stammets needed to come into the room and get a grip on her throat with one hand. His other hand went to hers holding the gun, keeping it down to her side. As he tightened the hold on her throat, putting pressure on her carotid and pulling her against him, she felt a heavy bulk in his left jacket pocket hit her butt. ‘He’s got a gun,’ she realized and remembered the trimming shears in her back pocket. They were on her right side, which was the hand holding her gun and subsequently being held by Stammets. She switched her gun to her left hand and he immediately dropped her right hand to reach for her left. She used the change in his attention to grab the handle of the shears, even as she felt the halt of blood flow to her brain affecting her. Her vision was going dark as she pulled the shears out of her back pocket. She needed to do a bit more than incapacitate him because she knew she was about to lose consciousness. She couldn’t let him take her. Hitting his femoral would be next to impossible from this angle, so she used the last of her strength to jab them up and into his side.

He shouted as he let her go. She felt herself falling. The last thing she heard as she hit the floor was him saying, “I thought you’d understand me.”

*************************************************************************************************************

She woke only seconds later, but it felt longer. She felt dizzy and a bit nauseous. She rolled over as quickly as she could, which wasn’t very fast at the moment, instinctively moving away from him. Her foot hit the gun she had dropped when she fell. She was relieved to realize it hadn’t gone off when it hit floor by the lack of the telltale smell. 

The only thing she could hear over the ringing in her ears was her dogs, still going crazy at being separated from her when there was a stranger in the house. She reached for her gun and turned on her knees toward him, stomach lurching at the sudden movement. She definitely might have a concussion.

Fantastic. 

He hadn’t pulled his own gun out, but was instead clutching his side with both hands, blood oozing from the wound. Her shears were on the floor less than a foot away, coated in blood as well.

“You idiot,” she hissed, between clenched teeth. She could have nicked an intestine. Keeping them in place would have at least slowed the blood loss.

He didn’t seem to care. “She said you’d be able to understand me.” He was leaning against the wall between her kitchen and living room, shaking his head back and forth in despair. It took her a second to understand what he was saying over the din both inside and outside of her head. 

‘Fucking Freddie Lounds.’ “I can understand anyone. You’re not special,” she bit out, swallowing against her urge to vomit. Her dogs continuing to go berserk outside and making the screen door slam as Winston tried to claw it open was making her head pound. 

“You were supposed to understand and connect with me,” he choked out, tears falling down his face. 

Wil rolled her eyes and immediately regretted it as she had to put her left hand down to steady herself as she coughed up a bit of bile. Yeah, she definitely had a concussion. 

For a second, she thought one of the dogs was howling, but couldn’t recognize who until the high-pitched wail became a police siren. ‘I swear to all that is holy if one of those officers shoots one of my dogs…,’ she thought to herself and turned the safety on her gun. 

Fuck, this was going to hurt. She whistled, the shrill of it piercing the air around her, making her vomit again. But it had the desired effect on her dogs, turning their barks to whimpers and whines. She coughed again, trying to get the feeling out of her mouth so she could talk. “It’s okay, guys. I’m okay,” she croaked out, struggling to make her tone soft and bright to reassure the dogs. 

She heard the car door slam and the officer radio in his arrival. “Ms. Graham?”

A couple of the dogs began barking again, Buster and Harley easy to pick out. “Shhhhh!” she forced out, glad they listened so she didn’t have to be any louder than necessary. “I’m fine! Go around and come in the back door. My dogs are a bit upset right now and I don’t want anyone to get shot,” she managed to holler. She groaned as the noise made her feel sick again. Luckily the deputy was good at obeying and she was quickly joined by a fresh-faced young man. “Handcuff him and then call him an ambulance,” she ordered. 

He nodded, a bit shakily. “Yes ma’am.” He reported the situation in over his radio and she could hear another siren in the distance getting closer.

“Have them kill the siren please. I’m pretty sure I have a concussion and I don’t want to throw up anymore right now,” she told him. 

He called that in as well and a few tears leaked out in relief when the sound stopped.

In short order, she was swarmed by her dogs just as her house was swarmed by first responders. She was wrapped in a shock blanket, sitting on her front steps with Winston and Max’s heads on her knees. She knew Harley and Jack were leaning against her back, keeping between her and the strangers as well as adding the comfort of their bodies. Ellie was lying on her feet while Zoe was on her chest, her jaw resting on her shoulder as she held her. Buster’s yet to be trimmed claws could be heard clacking on the hardwood behind her as he followed the officers around, making sure they stayed in line, occasionally giving them a huff, bark, or growl when they did something he didn’t like. This was how Jack Crawford found her when he arrived.

“You okay, Wil?”

Max and Harley both huffed in weary warning at his deep voice.

“Jack,” she greeted, giving a little laugh when her Jack nuzzled his head under her arm, upsetting Winston and making the brindled dog growl in response. “Not you, Jack.” She stroked his head and kissed it before pushing him back behind her and letting Winston resettle. “I better call you Agent Crawford when we’re around my pack. Don’t wanna confuse any of them,” she told her boss to explain.

“That’s fine. Are you okay, Wil?” he repeated. 

“I’ll be alright,” she confirmed. “I’ve got an excellent therapist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week (hopefully), another therapy session.
> 
> Also, you may be wondering about why she pulled the dark paper over the screen of her phone. She obviously had no clue how this would go. She wasn't sure if he was going to try to kill her or try to talk to her, but she didn't want him knowing Jack was listening to what was happening. She wanted Jack to listen in case he took her or killed her.


	7. Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wil and Hannibal become just a little bit closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. I'll try to stop that but no guarantees.

“Wil, please come in,” Hannibal greeted as he ushered her into his office. “I was surprised to hear from you again so soon. Is everything alright?”

She sat in her chair as she answered. “Is everything ever really alright?” They both chuckled before she continued. “No, actually. That serial killer we spoke about last time? He escaped when we went to capture him. The next day, he showed up at my house.” She saw Hannibal freeze for a second, between one breath and the next. Even though she was safely in his office, he still worried for this event that had happened to her. It made her smile for a moment.

“You appear physically fine,” he prodded, silently asking for more information to assuage his worry.

“I am fine, physically. He knocked me unconscious by blocking the blood flow to my brain. He applied pressure to my carotid arteries with his hand.”

Hannibal blinked as he simultaneously tilted his head to the side with a slight jerk. “He was successful?”

The movement gave away his shock and she marveled at how much emotion he was showing without really showing any. Could she see him better now after their short time knowing each other or had she thrown him off today? “Yes, he was successful, but not before I was able to stab him in the side with a pair of scissors.”

His lips twitched upwards for a split second. “How resourceful of you.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face, both at his reactions and at her own ‘resourcefulness’. “He could see the gun in my hand, but even pressed against my back, he didn’t feel the trimming shears I had in my back pocket.” The skin around Hannibal’s mouth twitched down for a moment when she mentioned Stammets being pressed against her. Interesting. “I had been grooming my dogs on the front porch when Jack called and I went inside to answer it. I use regular trimming shears on the dogs since they’re cheaper and didn’t want them stepping on them and accidentally hurting themselves, so I put ‘em in my back pocket. Me being cheap turned out to be good for once.” She chuckled in self-deprecation.

“You’re not cheap,” he immediately defended, as if the very idea of it offended him. He smoothed down the side of his blazer for a moment as if his own vehemence had startled him and he had to soothe himself. “There is a difference between being wise with your money and wasting it on items of low quality. I don’t know of your childhood, but I imagine it taught you the value of a dollar.”

She nodded her head at him in concession. “It did. Your tastes are very opulent. I would reckon your childhood didn’t.”

He gave her a small smirk. “Seeing as my childhood was spent in Lithuania and my adolescence was in Paris, you would be correct since neither country used dollars as currency.”

She laughed, throwing her head back in surprise at his response. It trailed off into chuckles. “Good point.”

“How was your childhood?”

“Transient. Dad repaired boat motors, so we went to where the work was, which changed seasonally. From the Gulf Coast to the Great Lakes, I got to see a lot of the country. I never knew a different type of life until we settled in south Louisiana. The work was pretty constant there. Instead of spring, summer, fall, and winter, the seasons were crawfish, crab, shrimp, and oyster.” She had a small smile on her lips as she reminisced. 

“It sounds like you have fond memories of that time.”

“I do. I attended Tulane and joined the NOPD afterwards. It wasn’t where I spent most of my childhood, but it is the first place I considered home. The culture, the people, the food, even the air there is different. Not always good different, but it’s got a special place in my heart.”

Hannibal nodded, his attentiveness clear in his eyes. “Have you ever considered anywhere else home?”

“My current house in Wolf Trap,” she answered immediately.

“And the sanctity of that house was violated. How are you dealing with that?”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not. I don’t think I slept last night. Well.” She shrugged. “Granted, I don’t sleep well most nights recently.”

He turned his head, refocusing his attention. “You haven’t mentioned this to me.”

She moved uncomfortably in her seat. “You’re a psychiatrist,” was her half-assed defense.

He stared at her head-on as he sat up straighter in his seat. “I hold a medical doctorate as well. I also know, with my PsyD, MD, and experience as a human, that the health of the mind and body are unequivocally linked. Have you told anyone about these issues?” She looked away and he knew the answer. “Wil, I cannot help you if I don’t know you are having problems.”

“I don’t have any problems,” she snapped.

“Wil,” he chided.

She scowled fiercely and stood. “I don’t need any help.”

Hannibal calmly looked up at her. “We all need a little help. Humans are social animals and even the most lone wolf among us needs help and companionship sometimes. There’s nothing shameful about it. As a matter of fact, it takes a lot of courage to be able to admit that you can’t face something completely alone. I would certainly say I’m self-sufficient, but even I have to rely on others for things I either cannot do or do not have the time to do.” He kept their gazes locked as he repeated. “There is nothing shameful about it.”

She was embarrassed to feel tears prick her eyes. She did not cry, especially not in front of people and this was the second time she had done so in front of him!

“Wil, you cannot expect your walls to stand strong when you don’t repair them. Sleep is restorative. It is necessary for your health. To be honest, it’s rather incredible how strong you still are after the week you’ve had. Your sanctuary was violated. Your peace of mind and safety were threatened. You haven’t been able to rest. Certain reactions are going to happen after such an ordeal.” He slowly stood, telegraphing his movements as he took a step toward her. He brushed away a single tear that had fallen. He frowned and pressed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, then her forehead. “And now it appears that you’ve gotten a low grade fever.” He removed his hand and looked into her eyes. “You must take care of yourself, especially if you won’t allow others to do it for you.”

She nodded, bottom lip trembling slightly as another couple of tears fell.

He brushed his hand lightly over her hair before settling it on her shoulder. “You have my number for a reason, Wil. I implore you to use it when you need it.”

She nodded again, suddenly feeling drained. “Okay,” she choked out. She was so fucking tired; she just wanted to cry. 

“Come, let’s get some food in you,” he said, walking back to his desk to make sure everything was put away for the day.

“What?”

“Food is fuel. Everything needs fuel to function.” He ushered her toward the door, grabbing their coats on the way.

“Uh, okay,” she agreed hesitatingly. 

*************************************************************************************************************

She was only a little surprised when they went to a neighborhood instead of to a business district. She remembered what he said about being careful about what he eats. It would certainly be better than the crap she usually eats.She knew as soon as the house came into view that it was his. 

As the garage door closed, sealing them into the room, she felt a sliver of unease slice through her abdomen. She brushed the feeling away and exited the car, waiting for Hannibal to let them into his house. He led her into his kitchen, showing her to the armchair he had in the corner. 

“Odd place for a chair,” she commented as she sat down. “Very comfy though.”

He had removed his suit coat and was rolling up his sleeves as he answered. “Whenever I am planning a menu or creating a new dish, I prefer to be in this room. It helps me to be in the proper mindset. It also helps when making the grocery list.”

She smiled, watching as he donned an apron. “Do you mind if I put my feet in the chair? I’ll take my shoes off first.”

He looked up at her for a moment before nodding. “Of course. Make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?”

“Just water for now.”

He brought a glass of cool water over to where she was curled up in his chair. “Do you have any requests for dinner?”

She accepted it with a smile and a soft thanks. “Nothing too complicated or that will take too long. Other than that, go nuts.”

Hannibal narrated his actions as he went through them, preparing a light salad and a hearty soup. She occasionally asked questions, but after she was silent for a few minutes, he looked up. She was dozing lightly, head tilted back against the chair and mouth slightly open due to the angle. He couldn’t help a slight smile at the sight and was surprised at the warmth that bloomed in his chest. He contemplated his reaction as he finished up the meal. 

He was not a stranger to genuine affection. He felt it for few, but he still felt it. He was more surprised by how quickly he had come to include Wil Graham among the few people he actually liked and by how strong those affections were. He briefly entertained the idea of love, but brushed it away. Now was not the time for such things. He did see a potential for a romantic partner in the agent, but had never had more than short affairs in the past. Just enough to keep up appearances and only with people he could tell weren’t going to become unduly attached. 

He shook the thoughts off as he went to wake her. “Wil,” he said softly as he touched her shoulder.

Her eyelids fluttered for a second before her head jerked up violently. “What?” she almost slurred as she looked around. 

He pushed her hair out of her face and smiled as her eyes focused on him. “You fell asleep, but I thought you might either want to move to a more comfortable place or eat.”

She blinked a couple times before running her hands over her face, pushing her glasses off in her haste. She grabbed them and wiped the lenses before putting them back on. “Eat. I mean, I wanna eat,” she murmured. 

He stood and held out his hand in expectation. She ignored the gesture obstinately, uncurling her legs. She could feel her legs tingling from being asleep, but decided to stand anyway. It should not have come as a surprise when she was less than successful and ended up falling forward. Hannibal caught her, not even put slightly off balance by her sudden weight. She felt her face heat with a blush and internally cursed her stubbornness. 

“I am so sorry,” she told him as she pushed away, trying to stand on her own again. 

He pulled her close for a hug that made her feel so good and so right before he released her. He ran his hands down her arms as he made eye contact. “Not at all. I will always be here to balance you, Wil. I hope you remember that.”

She swallowed and gave him a nod. He stepped away and led the way to the dining room, pulling her chair out for her. She sat and allowed him to push her chair into place. 

He disappeared back to the kitchen and reappeared with two bowls. “I’m not sure how much you heard before you drifted off. We’re having a simple autumn salad of kale, apple, pear, dried cranberries, walnuts and pomegranate arils topped with a vinaigrette of walnut oil, Dijon mustard, garlic, as well as two vinegars: apple cider and white balsamic.” He was obviously proud as he sat hers down before her.

“Thank you. It sounds delicious.” He sat across from her, not at the head of the table as she expected. That small show of respect, of equality, felt intimate somehow, though she was certain that he did the same for all who dined in his home. She wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse, to be treated the way he treated others. 

Hannibal poured them each a glass of white wine to go with it. He let her take the first bite and felt a surge of pleasure at the way her eyelashes fluttered as the flavors hit her tongue. Her low moan aroused a different feeling in him and he swallowed drily against it.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. He felt knocked back, not just by her being the one to initiate eye contact, which she was vocal about not liking, but also by the intensity of her gaze. She looked hungry. Predatory. His mouth opened a bit at the sight and he licked his lips. She copied the motion before he had even completed it and he thought about her empathy. How beautiful she was.

“I’m not usually very big on salad, but this is incredible, Hannibal.”

He pulled his control together and smiled softly. “Thank you, Wil. It is always a pleasure to see others enjoy what I create.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had pomegranate before,” she said, balancing an aril on the tines of her fork. She huffed a soft laugh before eating it. She made a happy noise as she bit and the juice exploded in her mouth. “I feel a bit like Persephone. I certainly understand why she ate them.”

“Does that make me Hades?” Hannibal asked, amused and delighted by the possibility.

“That depends,” she responded. “Are you going to try to make an honest woman out of me against my wishes?”

“I doubt there are many who could force you into anything you did not wish, if there are any at all. Rather, if I dragged you down into my darkness, how do I know you wouldn’t make an honest man out of me instead?”

She laughed. “A non-answer from the psychiatrist. Who would have guessed.” Her eyes flicked up to the painting above his head and she found she wasn’t sure how their conversation made her feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting above Hannibal’s head is of Leda and the Swan by Frances Boucher. In the story, Zeus was a horny entitled bastard who liked to turn into animals so he could rape women. I wonder if he thought humans were below him so he turned into something below human to rape them to emphasize they weren’t deserving of his attention? I’m probably overthinking it. But then again, I might not be. Seriously what was his deal with forcing bestiality onto these women?


	8. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal gets to hear Wil's opinions on the Copycat Killer and his respect for her grows. When Hannibal presumes and moves a little too fast, Wil runs away. A nightmare brings her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this taking so long. I was crocheting a lot of Christmas presents and still am not done. **sigh**
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for your continued support. Life isn't too great at the moment, but I'm learning how to cope and pull through.
> 
> Once again, banner made by the lovely Dena Celeste! She has been a true friend through all of this and I appreciate her greatly.
> 
> This was looked over by istillcantforgetyou. I really appreciated the help with this! <3

Hannibal always gave himself at least one weekday off a week. That this day was scheduled after his appointments with Franklyn, his last client of the previous day, was no coincidence. He had given a lot of thought to his situation with Wil and after their dinner together a few nights before, he had decided to move forward with his plan. 

It was with this plan in mind that he made his way to her classroom at the Academy. He entered her classroom toward the end of her lecture and waited for it to be finished. He was most pleasantly surprised to see the topic she was teaching on that day.

“Garrett Jacob Hobbs, or the Minnesota Shrike, as he’s been dubbed, abducted and murdered eight girls over an eight-month period.” She stayed at the front of the room, walking slowly back and forth, all of her attention on her students. “All of the girls had the same color hair, same eye color, and were around the same age, height, and weight as his daughter, Abigail. There was a ninth victim who fit the profile, but she was not killed by Hobbs.” She pressed a button on the remote in her hand and there was his gift to her, in all its glory. “Her killer wanted us to know that he wasn’t the Minnesota Shrike, which is kind of funny considering his murder is what gave Hobbs his moniker.” She gave a small laugh before straightening her expression eerily fast. “He wanted us to know that he’s better than that. He is an intelligent psychopath. He is a sadist. He will never kill like this again. So how do we catch him? This copycat is an avid reader of Tattlecrime.com. He had intimate knowledge of Hobbs’ murders, motives, patterns--enough to recreate them and, arguably, elevate them to art.”

Hannibal felt pride growing in his chest. This proved he was making the correct, if most potentially dangerous, decision.

“How intimately did he know Garrett Jacob Hobbs? Did he maintain a distance or did he engage him? Did Hobbs know his Copycat as he was known? Before Hobbs murdered his wife and daughter, the house received an untraceable phone call. I believe this as-yet-unknown caller is our Copycat Killer.”

He grinned as he watched her wrap up. Yes, she was perfect.

*************************************************************************************************************

She was packing her stuff and getting ready to go for office hours when she realized someone was walking up to her. She looked up, unprepared to see Hannibal.

“Hey,” she said, smiling, surprised to feel the expression on her face. A few of her students had stopped to stare, so she slipped into the mindset of someone else. “Can I help you?” she drawled, eyes and voice combining to deliver a message the opposite of her words. Her students shook their heads and walked away, apologizing under their breath in their hurry to get away. 

She tucked the face away when she turned her attention back to Hannibal. “What’re you doing here? Is there another case? Normally Jack comes to get me for these things.” 

He brushed away the irritation he felt at his presence being misinterpreted. “No. Uncle Jack does not need us today. I did, however, want to take you out to lunch.”

She froze for a moment, before turning to look at him. “You… came here to take me to lunch?”

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?” he asked, tilting his head to the side a bit.

“It’s… just that it’s got to be close to a two hour drive,” Wil explained as she stood fully to face him.

“It was no trouble,” he assured her.

“You braved the Beltway in the middle of the day just to invite me to lunch?”

“I did and I would brave far worse for the pleasure of your company.” 

“I...uh… I don’t know what to say.” 

“Say yes. It’s a free meal and, hopefully what you consider, a decent companion.”

She chuckled and licked her lips as she thought. She had work to do. Work she didn’t honestly want to do considering it was grading papers. She gave reflection to her own emotions for a second and recognized a bit of guilt at the thought of denying him. She cast a glance up at Hannibal and tried to read him. There was a hint of smugness in the lines around his mouth, like he knew she’d say yes, as if there were no other option. He had driven two hours and saying no would be inconsiderate. She blinked and a scowl creeped over her face. She watched the surety fade slowly from his expression as doubt crept in. She didn’t owe him lunch just because he drove that far to see her. He was the one who decided she had free time to see him just because he had free time. He hadn’t called to ask if she had plans or if she was even at the Academy today. He had just assumed. Society had trained her and other women not to inconvenience people who went out of their way for them, but this was uninvited.

She rolled her head up to look him in the eye and pulled her shoulders back to stand up straight. She felt internal glee as the last of the hope faded from his face. “Hannibal, I won’t be able to attend lunch with you today.”

“And if I may ask why not?”

“Why you ask?” She raised an eyebrow. “Simply because you didn’t. Quite presumptuous of you to assume I’d be available today without giving me the courtesy of asking me if I were.” She could see shock in his eyes and felt vindicated. She grabbed her satchel and walked toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have lunch plans.”

*************************************************************************************************************

“Do you have lunch plans?” Wil asked Alana over the phone as she walked toward her car. After clearing her head for a couple of days, she felt bad for making things awkward between her and Alana that night in her office. Alana was her friend and had always been there for her. She knew it was up to her to reach out and let the woman know they were okay.

“I don’t if you don’t, Graham Cracker,” Beverly answered from behind her.

Wil jumped, startled and turned to glare at her friend, who simply laughed at her.

“I can meet you for lunch, Wil,” she answered. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”

Bev laughed again and Wil scowled at her.

“Will Beverly be joining us?” Alana asked. 

“Sure,” she responded, gesturing at Bev’s car and following her to the vehicle.

Twenty minutes later, they were all sitting around a table in a diner and Wil found her indignation had faded.

“So what’s wrong, Wil?” Alana asked.

“Hannibal showed up after my lecture today and invited me to lunch.”

Her friends made similarly intrigued noises though Beverly spoke up first. “Doesn’t he live in Baltimore?”

“Yep.”

“And he didn’t call ahead and make plans?” Alana asked.

“Nope.” Wil tapped her heel against the floor as she focused on the straw wrapper she was shredding.

“That’s… unusual. He makes plans for everything. He’s not a spontaneous person.”

“Sounds like someone here has changed that,” Bev replied with a smirk.

Wil’s eyes flew up to Bev’s, a terrified flicker of hope burning in her stomach. She saw Alana’s frown in her peripheral vision and the spark turned leaden. She flagged a waitress and ordered a Sprite. 

“So why are you at lunch with us instead of Doctor Sexy?” Beverly asked, laughing at the looks both Alana and Wil shot at her.

Wil looked away for a bit. “I may have told him it was rude to just assume that I didn’t have any plans.”

Alana gasped in shock. “You didn’t actually call him rude, did you? He prides himself on being a gentleman and finds rudeness deplorable.”

“I didn’t say he was rude!” Alana’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I did say he was being presumptuous though.” Alana’s eyes bugged out and Beverly snorted. “Well, he was! You can’t just assume people are going to be available for lunch just because you have the time!”

“But you were available or you wouldn’t have called us to have a sudden lunch,” Bev pointed out.

“Well, I couldn’t just reward him for being presumptuous!” she defended.

Beverly laughed, surprising both of her companions. “Well, I’ll be damned. I never thought I’d see the day Wil Graham played hard to get instead of just shutting him down.”

“Wha-? I-No!” Wil’s poor defense only made Beverly laugh harder. 

“Damn, Graham! Denial too, I see.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “You’re hot for doctor.”

Wil was mortified to feel a blush spreading across her face. “No,” she tried again while her mind raced. It had been so long since she had truly felt a desire for someone. She wasn’t reflecting or channeling Hannibal right now. Any reactions she was having were her own. Her heart began pounding. “Ah, fuck,” she murmured, putting her head on the table. 

Beverly laughed again before petting Wil’s hair. “It’s okay, Graham Cracker. He is super hot. It isn’t like anyone can blame you. He’s basically a woman’s wet dream come to life.” Alana made a strangled noise of shock while Wil chuckled into her arms. “He’s wealthy, refined, FINE, polite. He doesn’t leer or hover creepily. He’s not a mouthbreather. He’s educated. He’s got an accent! And not like a West Virginian accent either, but like a sexy one!” Wil’s giggling got worse as Bev went on. “Those cheekbones would cut a bitch if slapped. He makes what should be horrendously clashing patterns WORK!”

The waitress showed up then with their food and Wil’s Sprite. Wil didn’t move except to mutter a thanks while Bev told the waitress to put Wil’s food down next to her head.

“He has a Grand Diplôme from the Cordon Bleu Institute in Paris,” Alana input, getting into the teasing and her salad.

“Oh my God! He can cook!?!” Bev asked, as she poured ketchup all over her fries.

“It’s more than cooking. It’s an entire show. They’re works of art.”

“See, Wil? Man knows how to put on a show.” Wil didn’t have to be looking at Beverly to know she was waggling her eyebrows.

“Speaking of art, he has a drawing style reminiscent of the Renaissance. He also plays the harpsichord, piano, and theremin.” Wil could hear the grin in Alana’s voice.

“Well, that’s just not fucking fair. He can’t be perfect. Is he gay? He’s gay, isn’t he? Dammit, I knew it!” Beverly rushed through, Alana’s giggling joining Wil’s. 

“He’s what he calls ‘sapio-sexual’, meaning he’s attracted to people for their minds, regardless of their parts,” Alana corrected.

“Well, then he’s a serial killer or something. No one is that perfect.”

Wil’s head lifted, a smile on her face. “A serial killer who is intelligent enough to not get caught or even be suspected? I dunno, Bev, that sounds pretty perfect to me.”

They all laughed before Bev thought of something else. “Does he like dogs? Anyone Wil goes for absolutely has to love dogs.”

Alana thought about for a second. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him interact with a dog or even talk about them.”

“Well, that’s it. There you go,” Wil told them. “No way. I can’t like someone who doesn’t like dogs,” she declared.

“But you do like him,” Alana prompted softly.

Wil shrugged one shoulder while she slid her plate in front of her and took a big sip of her Sprite. She wasn’t that hungry anymore, but took a bite of her cheeseburger anyway. After she had swallowed, she spoke again. “I actually already knew he could cook, though I didn’t know he had gone to school for it.”

“Wha!?” Bev managed to articulate through a mouthful of fries. She coughed and guzzled her Coke, making a face. “Oh God. That is a terrible combination in the mouth at the same time.” She took a sip this time before continuing. “What do you mean you already knew he cooked? When did he cook for you?”

“The day of the Hobbs thing. He brought me breakfast that morning and then I stayed in his hotel room that night. We had dinner and then breakfast again the next morning.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. I didn’t realize he had made the food though. I thought he had just brought you food,” Beverly said, ready to attack her fries again.

Alana waved it off. “It doesn’t count if it isn’t from his kitchen.”

“I actually did have dinner at his house a couple of nights ago. I went to his office to talk to him about Stammets and he insisted on feeding me.”

“Oh, now that I didn’t know about! How was it?” Beverly asked. 

“It was delicious. I kind of fell asleep in the chair in his kitchen as he cooked, so I didn’t catch the whole performance, but I did see some of it. He’s very talented.”

“Well, he obviously likes you,” Beverly concluded. She looked to Alana for back-up.

“He certainly seems to care about you already,” she started hesitantly. At Beverly’s glare, she continued. “I’ve never known him to be spontaneous before though, so that’s definitely a change in behavior.”

Wil poked at her fries. “Maybe.”

“Well, you could let him take you to lunch next time and see what happens,” Beverly suggested gently.

Wil sighed and popped a fry in her mouth. She nodded. “Okay.”

“Atta’ girl!” Beverly praised while Alana sat silently.

*************************************************************************************************************

Wil was in a field, Abigail Hobbs in her arms, back to chest. The girl was trembling as Wil whispered in her ear. She put her blade to the girl’s neck and ripped, aerterial spray shooting out and changing the color of the grass. 

Then she was on the ground, digging her hands into Abigail’s chest cavity. The blood soaked her shirt and her arms were stained. She pulled out the still beating heart while the girl looked on, terrified. “You’re never gonna be able to leave me now. You’ll always be with me,” she murmured before biting into the pulsing organ. The blood gushed into her mouth and she moaned as the rich fluid poured over her tongue. She looked up to see a stag nearby. After they locked eyes, he spooked, feathers flaring out as if terrified of the predator before him.

Wil jerked awake, gasping for breath as she looked around. A few of the dogs had woken up with her, a couple of them coming closer to check on her. She took some deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. She shook her head and looked at the clock. 12:48 am. “Fuck,” she muttered, as she realized she had sweated through her pajamas and climbed out of bed.

She changed into dry pajamas before going downstairs. She let the dogs that were awake outside, then headed into her kitchen to get some water. She walked back into her living room, drinking half of her glass as she let the dogs back in. She filled the glass again before going back upstairs. She got some towels out of the bathroom and laid them on the bed, then climbed back in. She was pulling the covers up around herself when she looked at her phone and before she realized what she was doing, she had picked it up and called Hannibal. 

“Wil? Are you alright?” He questioned immediately upon answering. 

His concern made her smile. “I guess I can’t call in the middle of the night if I’m alright,” she said with a forced chuckle.

“I’ve told you before that you can call me at any time. It is, however, far more likely for you to call me in the middle of the night if you’re not alright. Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered.

Her throat became clogged with emotion as her lip quivered and tears pricked at her eyes. "Shit,” she cursed on a gasp. “I swear I do not normally cry like this, especially in front of people”

“Then I am honored at the amount of trust you continue to show me,” he said softly, the timber of his voice dissolving the lump in her throat.

“I had a nightmare… about Abigail. I’m scared to go back to sleep,” Wil told him.

“Dreams are your mind’s way of processing information. You can’t anticipate them, block them, or repress them. They serve an important function. Tell me about this nightmare.”

She recounted the dream in all it's disturbing details, then awaited his judgement. 

“Why do you think you dreamed that?” he asked, surprising her.

“He wasn’t able to honor any part of her, so it was just murder.”

“That sounds likes a good reason for the dream, but it doesn’t explain why it was your dream,” he countered.

She was stunned into silence momentarily. It took her a few seconds to fully comprehend what he was saying and when she did, she swallowed nervously. 

“You stood in the breathing silence of Hobbs’ house. Walked where he walked. Did it speak to you?” Hannibal asked softly.

She cleared her throat before saying, “With noise and clarity.”

“You could sense his madness. Like a bloodhound.”

She took a shaky breath before responding, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I tried so hard to know him. To see him. Past the slides and vials, beyond the lines of police reports, between the pixels of all those printed faces of sad, dead girls and now he won’t let me go. I feel like I’m him.”

“You are nothing like him,” Hannibal reassured her. “You found him and stopped him. Who knows how many more girls would have died if it hadn’t been for you?”

“But I couldn’t save Abigail,” she whispered.

“You did the best that could be done, Wil. Nothing else you could have done would have changed that outcome. Her death is not your fault.”

“I went to her funeral yesterday,” she confessed. She could feel the disapproval in the brief silence before he answered her.

“Did it help you find closure?” 

“No,” she choked out. 

“How did you feel, seeing Abigail in the casket?” he questioned, voice soft.

“Guilty.”

“Because you couldn’t save her,” he concluded.

She corrected him. “No, because I felt like I killed her. I got so close to him… Sometimes I felt like we were doing the same things at different times of day. Like I was showering or eating or sleeping at the same time he was.”

“Even after he was dead?” he asked.

“Even after he was dead,” Wil confirmed.

“Like you were becoming him.” 

“I know who I am, Dr. Lecter,” she told him coldly. 

“I’m not saying you don’t. You’re the one who has implied your lines might be a bit blurry.”

She didn’t have an argument for that. “I just want him gone from my mind.”

“Maybe you need to find someone to take his place,” he suggested.

Maybe it was the conversation with Beverly and Alana that colored her thoughts, but she was almost certain he meant himself. “It might get a little crowded in here,” she teased

“I’m going to help you find who you are at your core. Once you know where and what she is, I don’t think you’ll have any issues getting rid of the ones you don’t want.”


	9. Poll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link to a poll for the fic  
> NOT AN UPDATE. Will delete after poll ends January 30, 2019 at 1900 CST

Check out @ladyapollonia’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/ladyapollonia/status/1090411568091803648?s=09

I'm just trying to get a feel for your opinions on something. I could honestly go either way no problem.


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